


Spiders Don't Go Into Heat

by Anonymous_Skrub



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/F, genderbender, post-Homecoming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-04 12:37:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11555355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous_Skrub/pseuds/Anonymous_Skrub
Summary: Patricia Parker is your average New York City denizen. (For Queens- and no, we don't include Rockaway or Breezy Point as part of this borough. That is Irishland.) Excpet, you know, a web-slinging supposedly male vigilante who looks after the little people. Actually, given what happens here almost yearly, maybe that is normal now.Also, girl problems. In more ways than one.





	1. Meeting the not-quite-parents-maybe?

“Woooooo!”

A red and blue clad figure streaked past the busy main streets of downtown Queens, Citi Tower only a few miles away and standing tall. People on the street below looked up, mixed reactions from all. Some waved and/or cheered, some shrugged and went on about their business, and some booed and/or threw things at him.

“Love you, too, losers,” Spider-Man muttered as “he” swung through the city. Landing on a slanted roof and quickly propelling into a window, the vigilante slash Avenger in training sort of yanked off the mask. Sweaty brunette hair was stuck to a pale face, and gangly limbs hurried out of the rest of the suit.

“Pattie, I know you’re in there! Hurry up, your food is getting cold!” Aunt May yelled through the flimsy door. Panicked eyes shot up to the door, and Patricia “Patty” Parker yelped, “I’m getting dressed, May!”

Slipping off her binder, she threw a tank top, hoodie, and sweats on, bare feet slapping the wood of the apartment floor as she barreled into the kitchen. “Hey,” she breathed, wincing as her chest gradually loosened and new bruises formed on her arms she was leaning on the counter.

May turned, and shook her head, oblivious to the damage done on the 15-year old's body. She shoved a plate over to her niece, who seemed to inhale it without even looking at what the food (formerly) was.

“So, how was your after school patrol, hero?” she asked casually, with a hint of concern. She may accept the Spider-Man persona, but didn’t have to be happy with it.

“Was good,” Patricia mumbled, poking a french fry May had gotten as part of the order from a diner around her plate. “Good” was subjective in this case- she stopped a kid from being mugged, but underestimated the numbers and fighting prowess of the muggers.

May hummed, before perking up. “Oh yeah, Ned called, said something about The Last Jedi leaks,” she casually mentioned. Patty choked on a mouthful of panini and threw her hands into the air.

Glaring at her aunt, she screamed, “DUDE! You can’t just drop a bomb like that on me without warning!” Ignoring her laughing aunt, she stormed into her room, booted up her laptop, and got on speed dial. “Ned, my number one guy in the chair- gimme them sweet Star Wars deets.”

\---------------

Monday morning saw Patty coming into school with a limp, black eye, and severely bruised ribs. People gave her weird looks because, seriously, where the hell did tiny Patricia Parker get these injuries?

At lunch, she damn near collapsed. She hadn’t felt this sore since she brought down Tony’s modified C-130 with Vulture. Ned was speaking to her, she thinks, but all she heard was white noise. Her food on her tray didn’t look right, kinda blending together and swirling and-

Her arm shot out and caught Michelle’s hand before it touched her cheek. Why is Michelle above me? Looking around, it seemed half the school was surrounding her. “Uhh…” she eloquently began.

Upon seeing a conscious and somewhat normal Patricia Parker, Michelle gave a small sigh of relief. The girl flat out collapsed and passed out on the (highly unsanitary) floor of the cafeteria. As the whispers started and the bell rang, she whirled around, glare on her face.

“Don’t you losers have class to get to?” she growled. Upon the visual of the Michelle Jones Glare™, the population of Midtown Science H.S. vacated the premises. Turning back to the (likely suffering from a concussion) girl on the floor, Michelle pulled her up to stand. Which didn’t work out that well.

Instead of Patty supporting her own weight, she collapsed against Michelle, who had enough time to widen her eyes before supporting the tiny girl and keep her up. Patty was falling back into unconsciousness, hands gripping Michelle’s shirt as she nuzzled further into the warmth.

Ned stared slack-jawed some distance away, as the (drum roll) Sarcastic Ice Cold Feminist Genius Ruler™ of Midtown Science was cradling his best friend like a babe. (Wait, do people still say that?) He only stopped once the MJG™ turned his way again. He had better things to do than watch some clichè high school superhero fanfiction trope happening in real life. Unless… **_Fourth wall breach detected, closing…_** Whatever, he had Spanish. Shit.

**_back with the spider_ **

Michelle thanked all previous feminists and existential thinkers of days gone that 1) Patricia Parker was extremely tiny (4’11) and B) she knew the way to her apartment. Also C) the school was too scared of her to stop her from leaving right now anyway.

That being said, while cradling an almost-comatose girl on the subway (don’t ask how, she doesn’t know either) Michelle realized she might meet Patricia’s aunt. Also she might not have her keys. Also what apartment is she? And will she even let her-

“Your thinking face is adorable.” Wait, what?

Snapping her face down at Parker, the dopey smile and half-lidded eyes proved her initial assumption of a concussion correct. However, _did she just call me adorable?_

Michelle reacted in the only way she knew how.

“Anything looks adorable compared to yours.” _Shitshitshitshitshitshit_.

Parker pouted and tears- _actualfuckingtears_ \- welled up in her eyes. “Why are you always so mean to me, Michelle?”

_Because I’m too scared to acknowledge the fact seeing you everyday causes an excessive amount of dopamine and endorphins to rush into my brain and the way you chew on your pencil is way too arousing to be considered any normal turn on and_ -

“Because it’s absolutely hilarious to watch you cry,” she says instead. _MOTHERFUCKING SHIT FUCKING DAMMIT_!

Parker’s muddled gaze is fixed on her for an extended amount of time, even after the tinny automated voice announces, “ _This is 167th Street, transfers are available to…_ ” and the girls are aboveground.

“You’re lying,” Patty says, dead serious. Michelle nearly chokes and trips but manages to be more graceful and instead raises an eyebrow. “I think you really like me,” she giggles, and Jesus fucking Christ if she wasn’t extremely wounded right now, and Michelle was struggling to find Parker’s correct key on this fucking Stormtrooper keyring, that wall looks sturdy enough to support slamming a small Caucasian girl against it for a hot makeout session followed by- _FOCUS_!

Eventually moving Parker to her bed, Michelle sighed and flopped on the floor, sitting next to the lower bunk bed where Patricia was. “You’re weird, Parker,” she whispers to the sleeping girl, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. May had been called and was rushing home, and while Michelle waited she got curious.

“Wonder what kind of sexy underwear you might have,” she snickered, opening a drawer. She did not find sexy (Stormtrooper themed?) lingerie in the drawer, unfortunately.

Lifting a red and blue themed article of clothing up out of it, she gasped.

“Oh my God.”

Patricia Parker was Spider-Man.

At least, when she put this corset on, maybe. Michelle decided it was better than lingerie.

Wait, why would she have a cors-

On the drawer, on a white sticky note and with bright blue marker, “ ** _MAY PARKER_** ” was scribbled out.

Michelle screamed. Internally, of course.

**AN: SIKE!**


	2. Spontaneous Combustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day... the next week.

Patty gradually came to later- much later- in the day. She groaned as she sat up in her bed, rubbing her head. Stopping, she felt around it.  _ Bandaged… _ Weird.

 

“May?” she called out weakly. On cue, her aunt threw open her door, and enveloped her in a hug. Patty weakly hugged her back, wincing as her ribs flared up in pain.

 

“Oh my God, Patty, are you okay? You fainted in school and was brought home by Michelle and I was so worried an-” May rambled, but Patty focused on one part in particular.  _ Michelle brought me home? The fuck? _

 

May was crying- genuinely crying- and Patty just wrapped her arms around her aunt tighter, even though it was extremely painful and brought tears to her eyes. May quickly detached herself and looked at her with wide eyes. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she shot out of her room.

 

Patty collapsed again and coughed, a bit of blood speckling her hand. Groaning yet again, she let one arm dangle off her bed as she waited for May to do… whatever she was doing. Spotting the Advil left on the desk with a cup of water, she popped… probably too many pills in her mouth, and drained the cup.

 

As she laid her head down again, suddenly Michelle burst into her room and almost slid on her knees next to her. “Fucking Christ, Parker, you scared the shit out of me!” she screamed, eyes red and puffy.  _ Was she… crying?  _ Patty limply lifted her arm that was dangling up, and wiped a stray tear that was falling.

 

“Sorry, Cap’n,” she whispered, voice weak. Michelle held her hand there and breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Looking back up, Michelle worriedly whispered, “You okay now?” Patty shrugged awkwardly, wincing as her (formerly dislocated) shoulder screamed in pain.

 

“Define ‘okay’,” she shot back, grinning. Michelle just rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation.

 

“Okay enough to be at the meet this Saturday,” she said, eyes uncertain. “You should be in a hospital, but your aunt said no, and I won’t judge, but… This is serious, Patty,” Michelle whispered, eyes taking in the various bandages and slung arm. Patty’s eyes widened upon hearing the word “meet”. Running some quick calculations in her head, she tried to imagine how much she’d be healed by then.

 

“Should be much better by then, Michelle,” Patty replied, a small smile on her lips. Michelle’s brow furrowed, and she stated, “Saturday is  **five days** away. This will take like  **two months** to heal.”

 

“I’ll be fine, Jones. Quit mothering me, you’re losing your scary badass image,” Patty teased, but paled when the MJG™ was turned her way.

 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” she stammered quickly, raising her hands quickly. Which hurt. A lot. “Ow. Ow. Bad idea.”

 

Michelle sighed and lightly shoved her. “Move over, Parker,” she ordered, climbing into the space that Patty gave. Patty went red to the neck and cried out, “What are you doing?!”

 

Michelle just settled down next to her and untied her messy ponytail. “It’s 2 AM, it’s a school night, and you’re hurt. So I’m sleeping and making sure you don’t roll out of the bed and hurt yourself,” she stated, reverse spooning Patty, who was breathing quickly from her position in the crook of Michelle’s neck.

 

“Night, Parker,” she whispered, turning off the desk lamp. Patty only weakly nodded, trying to: 1) not spontaneously combust and 2) not to give away her bruised arm was currently pinned to the bed.

 

As if sensing this, Michelle moved Patty on top of her fully, and wrapped her arms around her. 

 

Patty spontaneously combusted.

 

\---------------

 

Well, that went better than expected.

 

The following Monday saw Patty rapidly changing in the girls bathroom, and slipping out the window to sling around Queens. Her arm was no longer in a sling, her ribs were (mostly) healed, and most of her bruises faded. All in all, not a bad recovery.

 

She was on a high after being bedridden for a week. As she following the main avenues, keeping an eye out for trouble, she spotted Michelle below her. She was scrolling through her phone, walking home it seemed. 

 

(In honor of winning Regionals that Saturday, she called off practice for 3 days.)

 

Patty stared at her dumbly from the top of an apartment building. She knew it was creepy, but she did it anyway.

 

“Patty, why are you staring at that girl?” Karen asked, startling her. “JESUS CHRIST!” Patty yelped as she fell forward, arms flailing. She wound up standing sideways on the building.

 

Righting herself, she responded, “Don’t do that to me, Karen!” Karen giggled, but asked her question again. Sighing, Patty just replied, “Ask FRIDAY why Mr. Stark stares at Pepper.” 

 

“Patty,” Karen said, startling her from her daydreaming once again. They had begun to trail Michelle, and were sitting on a water tower.

 

“What is it, Karen?” Patty mumbled, watching a suspicious man staring at a closing shop.

 

“Michelle is crossing during the red and there is a car speeding towards her.”

 

Before she was even consciously aware of her actions, she had swung down shoved Michelle out of the way, and had a car slammed into her. Crashing into the light post on the opposite side of the street, it bent in a 45 degree angle, and the car that hit her crashed upside down next to her.

 

Patty was vaguely aware of screeching tires and sirens in the distance, but all she could think to do was ask, “Karen… Michelle?” Karen responded immediately, “She is fine, Patty. Permission to act-?” She was cut off when Michelle gently pulled her up against a wall, and began apologizing profusely.

 

Raising an arm weakly, she mumbled, “Just make sure to watch where you’re going, ma’am,” and shot off a web, and let Karen take over. Michelle stared at the swinging red and blue vigilante swinging away, and couldn’t help but follow her. Not that it was hard, the webs were known to only disintegrate after 2 hours.

 

Spider-Man better watch out, because Michelle Jones was on the hunt.


	3. Sleepy Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this at 3:21 (hA) AM and finished at 4:22 AM. So fuck you. And fuck me. Fuck everything. I'm going to sleep now. Fuck, now I'm hungry. I'm saying fuck a lot. Fuck saying fuck. Ugh. I just realized I put the notes in the summary. FUCK.
> 
> Nightmares are bitches. Waking up is nice.
> 
> FUCK, THERE!

**Excuse the shittiness, i started this at 0321 (ha) so yeah**

 

Patricia sighed- why was she here again?  _ Oh yeah, May said it would be good _ . She snorted- what part of a drug-and-drunk party was “good”?

 

She sighed and grabbed a beer, knowing full well it wouldn’t affect her until she was at least half a keg in- thanks, incredibly accelerated metabolism. Moving back to the corner of the darkened room, she slid into the space between Ned, who was awkwardly fumbling his fedora, and Michelle, who was… eating avocado toast? Ew? She just took a sip of her beer, and knocked her head against the wall, crumpling the already empty can. Silence ensued- well, as silent as can be with screaming teens and an eardrum bursting DJ set.

 

As the minutes ticked by, Ned grew increasingly uncomfortable. “Hey Patricia, you ho-” he began, before a sharp, “I’m  **fine** ,” cut through his question. Even Michelle looked over at this. Patricia NEVER snapped at Ned like that. However, given the day, it was understandable. Another silence took hold of the group. Until the king of assholes showed up. 

 

“Hey, Pussy Parker,” Flash slurred, “what the fuck are you doing here?” Except, when drunk, it sounded like: “Hey Psshhy Pffr, wadafack ur you douing herr?” She rolled her eyes, intent on ignoring Flash Thompson’s histrionic personality disorder. He stumbled closer, alcohol-tainted breath on her face.

 

“Are you trying to get wasted?” He asked, eyeballing her crushed can. Suddenly, he started laughing. Hysterically. Seriously, what is this shit? There wasn’t even anything funny- okay, maybe Patty trying to get wasted would NORMALLY be funny.

 

“You’re getting wasted! Ha! What would you parents think, Parker? Oh wait, they’re GONE!” Flash screamed, and laughed more. A small crowd starting laughing with him, and Patty felt her teeth grind.

 

“Fuck off, Flash,” she growled, tossing the can at his friend Jordan, who promptly stumbled and fell into a bucket of ice. Flash just sneered, and continued, “Oh, what about your  _ sexy _ aunt? I’d tap that MILF!” A chorus of cheers went up from the surrounding guys, and several smacks from jealous girlfriends. Patty exhaled harshly, nails digging into her skin so hard blood poked through the breaks.

 

Flash suddenly leaned in real close, and whispered, “What about your dear old Uncle Ben? Oh wait…” he trailed off, and everyone quieted. By this time, everyone was watching the exchange, music turned low.

 

“He’s dead!” Flash yelled in her face, spit flying.

 

Patty snapped.

 

She grabbed Flash by the collar of his varsity jacket and put her other hand on the back of his head, and slammed his face against the wall. He screamed as his nose shattered and blood spurted. Ned backed up, tugging MJ with him, who was staring at her wide-eyed. 

 

Patty slammed Flash’s face into the wall again. And again. And again and again andagainandagain-

 

“HEY BITCH!” Someone yelled out, and she ducked as an empty bottle was swung over her head. Dropping the now unconscious Flash, she turned around and delivered a mean uppercut to the drunk teen’s jaw, and she  _ saw  _ it shatter. He cried out and gripped his face, stumbling back into the crowd. Two more of Flash’s football teammates moved in, fists raised. Patty just cracked her neck.

 

One swung high while the other went for her gut. She jumped and turned sideways in midair, delivering a spinning double roundhouse kick to one, launching him into the kitchen counter, shattering the marble and splintering the wood. To the other, she just glared as he stared at her, genuine fear in his eyes. She savored every second of it.

 

Lashing out, she delivered a constant one-two combo to his chest, feeling ribs give and break, and actually  _ laughing _ . Secret identity be damned, this felt GOOD!

 

As the other boy collapsed, lungs probably punctured and gasping for breath, she whirled around, snarling, fists clenched. Nobody was moving forward now. Nobody was even-

 

“NO!”

 

She moved to slowly- Michelle had dashed behind her, some kid with a handgun aiming at Patty’s upper back. She watched the bullet slowly pierce her skin, the blood spurting out as it entered Michelle’s neck, and cleanly exited the other end. The bullet whizzed by her as she leaned out of the way. Time seemed to resume as Michelle crumpled to the ground, hands shooting for her neck as bright red blood spurted out. 

 

Patty completely flipped.

 

She charged the shooter (stupid), and grabbed his gun- a 9mm handgun- and ripped the pistol in half, tossing most of the barrel, the muzzle, and half the upper and lower receivers one way and the trigger & grip & guard, hammer, and chamber the other. She slammed him against a pillar in the dining room, raining one handed punches on his face, before dropping him as he blacked out.

 

_ Michelle _ .

 

She turned, paling and bloodlust gone as she saw Michelle’s clammy skin, the pool of blood, and her rapidly moving pupils. Patty knelt down next to her, shrugging off her flannel jacket and propping Michelle up on her side, before wrapping the jacket around both the entry and exit points.

 

“Someone call an ambulance!” she cried, watching as nobody moved to do anything, her eyes rushing behind her- not even Ned. Cursing, praying, and hoping, she tied the sleeves together and whispered, “Hold on, Michelle,” before picking her up and dashing out of the house. 

 

No cars in sight, no superheroes swooping in, just her on her lonesome. She dashed towards where she knew a hospital was, hoping Michelle would stay alive that long. Her shirt started leaking blood as the makeshift pressure bandage failed. 

 

Laying her down, Patty hastily unwrapped her knot, and grasped Michelle’s hand.

 

“You’re gonna be fine, Michelle, I promise, you’ll be fine,” she sobbed, slipping on her web shooters as her last resort. “Don’t freak out, Michelle, okay?” she asked, voice shaky as Michelle’s life blood pooled around them in someone’s lawn.

 

She webbed the wounds shut, hopefully sealing the airway as well, and started running with Michelle in her arms again. A few blocks later, her arms fell off Patty’s neck.

 

Another block, the gasping breaths stopped.

 

Another house, Patty was performing CPR.

 

People were suddenly surrounding her, watching her as she did chest compressions-  _ 30 for each cycle _ \- and rescue breaths-  _ one second intervals between 2 rescue breaths _ \- repeat, repeat, repeat…

 

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” she cried, as Michelle’s lifeless gaze stared back at her. “K-Karen, activate t-taser webs,” she sobbed, desperate. As the electricity coursed through the webs and into Michelle’s lifeless body, Patty finally fell to her knees.

 

Suddenly, Uncle Ben appeared in the crowd, still wearing his bloodstained clothing.

 

Her parents emerged, burned and deformed from their plane crash.

 

Dead police officers, rescue workers, civilians, everyone she failed to save came to form a circle around her, chanting. At first, she couldn’t discern what they were uttering, then it became clear.

 

_ “You can’t save everyone, you can’t save everyone, you can’t save everyone, you can’t save everyone.” _

 

As the corpses collapsed and started suffocating her, Michelle, lively again and smirking, shouted, “Stop sleeping on the job, loser! Get the fuck up!”

 

Patty did- she pushed, and pushed, and  _ pushed _ , when finally, the corpses gave way, and she shot an arm through, and grasped Michelle’s outstretched hand, and saw her smiling at her.

 

Then two holes were put in her chest and she fell on Patty, gunshots ringing in her ears, and the chanting began anew.

 

_ “You can’t save them all…” _

 

Suddenly, she shot up out of bed, sweating, pale, and whacking her head on the top bunk. Falling back down, she groaned, before looking around wildly again. Spotting more Advil, she dry swallowed some pills before spotting a piece of paper under the bottle. Grabbing it, she read the writing on it. And smiled.

 

**“To Loser,**

**Stop going to that underground fight club and getting your ass kicked. There are easier (albeit less cool) ways to earn money. Anyways, I expect you to answer with a 95% score at practice when you get back. Bedrest means more reading time.**

**From,**

**MJ (only my friends can call me this) (don’t make me regret it, Parker)”**


End file.
